Date: Fri, 12 Oct 2018 12:50:43 +0000
From: J a skehan
Subject: New Orleans life
New Orleans Life
If you've gotten this far you know the drill. This a work of gay fiction
containing sex between consenting males. If this offends you or is
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New Orleans Life
cajuncock
The woods were a known gay cruising area bordering a nudist camp. Each
day men went there looking for satisfaction with other men. Each day
different men would hunt the woods for hard cocks and willing ass holes.
Mostly, they were older men-some much older. I did not like most of them.
After a few months I became a known regular. Most of my hook ups were
with guys under 40, mostly tourists or married local men. One particular
guy became a regular, visiting me at home. He was good in bed, my
regular.
There were other local married men who I saw as a neighbors and
friends. I was a stranger in the town. People were curious about me and
asked question, not directly but in a more subtle manner. I was pretty
open with my answers. I had a very regular routine. I shopped at the
local supermarket on Fridays, went to the Saturday farmer's market, spent
time at the nearby beach, an hour away. One thing that I didn't share
with them was my sexual orientation. Often on Sundays I'd drive into the
city around noon. There I spent the afternoon at one of the gay sauna
clubs. I'd have dinner then hit a local sports bar to watch whatever was
on the TV. Usually, there'd be a number of straight men, most in their
twenties. About sunset I'd head for a small gay bar with a well known
backroom. This particular backroom had a rear stairs that went down to an
active but musty cellar. Here I could engage in all sorts of actvities
with whomever was available. Sometimes I'd meet guys from the sports bar
and we'd play around. We were a pretty tight knit group communicating via
email when we knew of a "special" party at someone's place. These parties
were limited to those in the know and only about ten men were normally
invited. Drinking, weed, bareback sex were on the agenda. Most
participants were in some sort of relationship and on the down low. I
never left unsatisfied.
A little background: I was 38, 5'10, 170 pounds, a nice firm body when
I sold my consulting business up north and I moved to New Orleans. I
invested wisely and have a steady income. It was pre-Katrina and the city
was a mixture that attracted everyone from oil rig workers to college
students. The gay bars were notorious for their open sexual operations. I
decided that city living was not for me and had bought across the lake.
I'd also bought a small apartment in the garden district that I used when
I didn't want to drive home. After several bad relationships in the city,
I'd sworn off of any long term attachments. Since I had plenty of privacy
and room at my home, I'd rent a room to one of the university grad
students. These often ended when the renter tried to form a closer bond
with me. I was gun shy to say the least and aware of the many games the
locals would play.
My weekends were spent in th French Quarter bars hunting for instant
gratification. I was seldom disappointed. I did take a number of trips
overseas and to other gay resorts. So overall I was content with my life.
The local cultural scene gave me opportunities to meet other single men,
some I even shared my bed with. There were plenty of gay tourists all the
time. I was talked into becoming a local guide for the city's tourist
bureau. Once or twice a week I'd lead small groups on walks in different
parts of the old city. Since I spoke 2 languages- French, Italian,
German- my groups were often international in nature. That's how I met
HIM. Carl was in his early thirties, tall, blond and good looking. He
took one of my two hour walking tours of the Garden District.
At the end of the tour in Jackson Square, he hung around as I answered
questions from other members of the group. Alone at last, I turned and
asked him if he had any questions. He replied "Sure, where can we go for
lunch?" I was taken aback but curious so I led him to the St. Charles
streetcar stop. While we waited he apologized for being so forward. I was
curious about him. Over lunch he explained that his German company sent
him to work in their new offices in the city. They gave him a stipend to
cover his expenses and he was looking to rent a furnished place. I
suggested that he call me in a few days and I might have some information
for him. He then launched into questioning me. No, I was not married, no,
I didn't live in the city but across the lake, Yes, I was gay. The last
one got my attention. I asked him if he was gay or bi. He admitted to
experiences with both sexes. We talked about the gay life of the city.
After our meal I gave him my number and told him to call me in two days
about an apartment.
Heading home across the lake, I phoned a gay friend who was a realetor.
He gave me a rough idea of what was available. Once home I got on the net
to search for more information. I printed out a page with a number of
possibilities. Two days later, Carl called and I told him that I had some
leads for him. We arranged to meet for lunch at a place on Magazine St. I
arrived early, got a table, and ordered a beer. Carl arrived a few
minutes early himself. We both ordered lunch and I handed him a copy of
the listings along with a map of the city. We spent most of the time
going over the list. I offered to take him on a short walking tour back
to the streetcar line. He was impressed with the area. Arriving at St.
Charles, I invited him to my place nearby for a drink. Over drinks, we
discussed his plans. He asked why I chose to live across the lake. I
explained that I preferred to be away from the throngs of tourists and to
be in a typical Cajun cottage. Knowing that he had a company car I
invited him to come over sometime for dinner in a real Cajun place. He
told me that after seeing the mobs of tourists he could understand. I
explained that there was a gay bar near my home that often featured live
music. It suited my needs for company and entertainment.
The next week he called to tell me that he'd found a place, signed a
lease, and moved out of the hotel. He asked if the dinner invitation was
still good. I told him whenever he wanted to come over. He suggested the
next Thursday evening. It was all set and I gave him directions along
with my address for his GPS. For some reason he was on my mind a lot
during that week. I decided to order a catered meal from one of my
favorite local restaurants. I also found a few good bottles of wine and
champagne to go along with our meal. I cleaned the house, excited that
I'd have a visitor.
Carl arrived carrying flowers and a bottle of champagne. I put the
bottle to chill with the others and we sat on the screened porch talking
and hearing the sounds from the nearby bayou. I opened one of the chilled
bottles to share as we talked. He was curious about why I lived alone. I
explained that I'd had a number of bad relationships and was gun shy. I
had to explain the meaning of gun shy as an American expression. He
laughed at the strange expression in the US. Dinner arrived from the
restaurant. I explained that although I did cook I thought that a catered
meal might give him a better idea of local cooking. As we ate, he had
more questions about my personal life. I told him of the consulting firm
I'd sold and now my quiet life, ok sort of quiet life, here. I also
explained that my family was originally from here. I was sort of coming
home.
After dessert and more champagne we again settled on the porch. The sun
had set and the sounds of the night were soothing. I suggested that he
might want to stay rather than driving across the lake to the city. He
agreed and said he'd go into his office late. Like many Fridays, most of
his staff either came in late or left early. The nights in the bayou were
often chilly this time of the year. So we retreated into the house. I
gave him a tooth brush, towels, and showed him one of the guest rooms
with the bathroom shared by my own bedroom. Inside the house it was
warmer so we both decided to just wear our underwear and sit watching the
evening news. Carl saw two of my self published books on local gay
history sitting on the coffee table. He asked me about them. I told him
that writing was a hobby. Mostly I wrote gay erotica stories for my
friends. He asked to read one for his bedtime. I printed out one and gave
it to him. I said that it was near bedtime for me and left for my bed. I
did my nightly bathroom ritual before slipping into bed with a good
mystery.
About 20 minutes later Carl knocked on my door and came in. "Your story
was very good, too good. It left me with the need to share with you my
desires, my feelings. He sat on the edge of my bed, pulling back the
covers to expose my naked body. He caught his breath saying "You have a
fine body. It's too bad you've chosen not to share it." As he spoke he
moved his hands up my legs. My body reacted instantly...
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